“I never pegged you for such an old man, big brother.”
“C’mon,” Deck protested. “I’m not a prude or anything. At least I didn’t think so before I started watching these guys. ¿Es indecente, verdad?”
Her brother’s outrage clearly amused Marisol. “Alright, then.” She cocked her hip. “If you’re so offended, why don’t you show these kids how it’s done?”
Deck pffted. “You want me to dance?”
“Uh, no. No one wants to see that. I want youand Corito dance. Together.” She clapped her hands in front of her. “And I know just the song.”
“Hey—” Before I could object to getting pulled into their argument, Marisol scurried away to the DJ.
“Sneaky little wannabe matchmaker,” Deck muttered.
Marisol’s complete lack of subtlety made me smile. Suddenly, she was seven years old again, trying to get Deck and me to hold hands on the couch while I babysat.
“We don’t have to do what she says,” I assured him. “I certainly don’t know how to dance any better than these kids.”
“You don’t know how to do better than rub your ass on someone’s privates?”
I hiccuped a laugh. “Dancing’s never been my thing. I went to one formal in ninth grade, and I’ve done the YMCA at weddings, but that’s about all.”
The song ended. A confused murmur rippled among the teens as the first notes of the Beatles’ “Something” came through the PA.
Peering over at Deck, I prepared to share a smile over his sister’s complete lack of chill, only to find him staring at me with a serious look on his face.
To my shock, he held out a hand.
“Marisol might have a point. C’mon,wife. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
I paused, looking down before giving him the slightest of nods. My hand felt as though it belonged to somebody else as I slid my fingers into Deck’s warm palm and allowed him to lead me to the center of the gym.
Most of the kids retreated to the tables and bleachers, although a few brave couples remained. Thankfully, no one tried to grind to George Harrison.
Deck pulled me toward him, bracing my hips with about eight inches between us. I looped my arms awkwardly around his neck as we began swaying side to side.
Into his ear, I whispered, “You surprised me. I figured you’d shut Mari down.”
“Don’t think too hard on it. I…wanted to dance with you.”
Inching closer, I almost stepped on his boot. “I’m glad.”
Glad was an understatement. It felt like floating. The soft touch of his fingertips invaded my senses, the purerightnessof being in Deck’s arms. How many times had I fantasized about this? How many times as a teenager had I wished Deck would ask me to homecoming or prom? It was a dozen years later. Yet somehow, it felt exactly the way I’d imagined.
It felt perfect.
Without deliberation, I closed the last of the distance between us and leaned my cheek on his chest, looking up at him. I felt the insistent thumping of his heart. He tilted his head down and locked our gazes together, the silver light of the disco ball making a halo around his dark hair. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Sighing, I closed my eyes.
His grip tightened on my hips, and I heard the undertones of his mumbled, “Fuck it,” as he moved his fingers to the center of my back before circling his arms around me, cementing us together.
Deck held me in his embrace as we continued to sway and rock to the music. He maneuvered slightly to rest his chin on my head, and I linked my arms around his neck. I felt the heat of his skin, the outline of the hair beneath his T-shirt, and the hard planes of his thighs.
“Ahem.” Marisol walked up next to us, clearing her throat dramatically. “Do I need to remind you to leave room for—”
“Don’t even say it.” Deck stepped back from me. “Sorry, Cor,” he said. “I forgot where we were for a minute there.”
I noticed he didn’t apologize for holding me close, only for where he’d chosen to do so.
“It’s fine, Deck. Me too,” I said. “It was a nice dance. Thanks.” I saw a few of the kids watching us. Luckily, since Deck and I were still new around the Center, they didn’t seem to care too much. If Marisol and Chuck had danced like that, it would have been a different story.
